Invitation
by Broadway Wednesday
Summary: Morticia tries to find out why Wednesday doesn't want to go to a party. Set before the episode The Addams Family Tree.


**a/n: Hi all, Happy 50th Anniversary everyone!  
><strong>**I started writing this one shot a while ago, but I finally finished it, yay!**

**Where Did We Go Wrong will be updated soon-ish. I may or may not upload the final chapter in two parts (I probably will since it's already 1500 words long). **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Addams Family… **

**Please Read and Review, let me know what you think!**

It was a cloudy day, the skies threatened to rain but held out.

Morticia was doing the laundry. Mama was going to do it, but Morticia had assisted. Gomez was at his zen yogi, and she didn't really have anything to do. Besides, she found it relaxing.  
>She was emptying Pugsley's pockets, the boy always managed to leave a wrapper or various piece of ammunition in his pockets, despite his mother's constant insisting that he empty them <em>before<em> putting them in the laundry hamper.  
>She moved on to Wednesday's small dresses. She lifted one, noticing it had been scrunched into a ball, she shook it out so she could wash it. When she shook it, she noticed a small folded up piece of paper fall to the ground from the dress.<br>She picked it up. Not trying to intrude in her children's lives, nor be a nosy mother she put it aside without reading, intending to return it to Wednesday when she finished the laundry.

After she had finished washing the clothes, she took them outside, and began to hang them up on the clothes line. Kitty strolled up to her and nudged her leg with his large head. She obliged and patted the mighty creature. Satisfied, the lion moved away from her and flopped down onto the lawn, watching as Morticia finished hanging up the wet clothes.

She went inside, pottering about, trying to occupy herself until her husband came home. It wasn't until she saw Pugsley wander out of the kitchen, with a zebra chop in one hand and a stick of dynamite in the other, that she remembered the laundry, and the piece of paper.

She went into the laundry room to retrieve it, and take it to Wednesday.

Morticia knocked lightly on her daughter's open bedroom door before letting herself into the room. Wednesday was nowhere to be seen.  
>"Wednesday darling?" called Morticia.<br>"Yes Mother?" piped up a small voice from under the bed.  
>Morticia kneeled on the ground, lifting the sheets to peer at her daughter.<br>Wednesday was on her stomach, surrounded by the heads of her dolls.  
>"What are you doing darling?" asked Morticia curiously.<br>"I'm playing spelunking," replied Wednesday, "all of my spelunking friends got blown up though," she indicated the heads.  
>"Oh, I see."<br>"Do you want to help me recover their bodies Mother?" asked Wednesday politely.  
>"No thank you darling," smiled Morticia, "I just wanted to give this to you, I found it in your laundry."<br>Morticia offered the piece of paper to her daughter. Wednesday took it. She looked at it for half a second, trying to remember what was written on it.  
>"Oh," she said finally, "thank you Mother," she did not, in fact, sound thankful.<br>Morticia furrowed her brow slightly, "Is there something the matter darling?"  
>"No," replied Wednesday noncommittally.<br>"Darling?" repeated Morticia, not pushing the girl, just concerned.  
>"It's nothing Mother," sighed Wednesday, "I was just trying to lose it."<br>"Oh?" prompted Morticia.  
>Wednesday turned her attention back to her headless dolls, "Are you sure you don't want to help me recover the bodies?" she asked again.<br>"No, that's alright darling," replied Morticia, not wanting to press the matter of the piece of paper, "you have fun."  
>"I will Mother," replied Wednesday.<br>Morticia gracefully rose to her feet and headed towards the door. Just as she was about to shut it, Wednesday called her back.  
>"Wait Mother, don't go."<br>Morticia stopped, she walked back to bed. Wednesday clambered out from under it.  
>"It's an invitation," said Wednesday, looking over her shoulder, hoping perhaps a large spider might show itself in the corner of her room. It did not.<br>"An invitation," Morticia prompted as she sat down on the bed.  
>Wednesday climbed up and shuffled slightly so as to sit beside her mother, "Yes," she replied, "to Harold Pomeroy's birthday party."<br>"Pomeroy," Morticia mused, trying to recall just which family were the Pomeroy's, "oh yes, with the picket fence!"  
>"Yes Mother," nodded Wednesday, happy that she didn't have to break the news about the family's strange decorating skills to her mother.<br>Morticia was confused, "But," she started, "their sense of style aside, they seem like a nice family. Why were you trying to hide Harold's invitation?"  
>Wednesday chewed the inside of her lip, not wanting to answer the question.<br>"Darling?" Morticia asked again, gently.  
>Wednesday released her lip from her teeth, "I don't want to go to a party," she replied quietly.<br>"Well darling, that's alright, I'll have you father call Mr. Pomeroy when he gets home from his zen yogi. I'm sure Harold will understand that you can't come," consoled Morticia.  
>But Wednesday shook her head.<br>Morticia gently began running her fingers along one of the young girl's braids, "Why not?" she asked.  
>"Because," answered Wednesday, "the invitation is for Pugsley too, and he already said that we can both go."<br>Morticia frowned, "That's odd, he didn't ask your father and I for permission, he's usually so good about that."  
>"He asked Grandmama, she said it was okay."<br>"Oh," replied Morticia, "well darling, it looks like you're just going to have to go to the party."  
>Wednesday looked down, upset.<br>"Darling, I don't understand," said Morticia, "Why don't you want to go to this party? Do you not get on with Harold Pomeroy?"  
>Wednesday shook her, "No, we get on okay. He's a bit weird, but he's nice."<br>"Then," started Morticia.  
>"I don't want to go to a party," interrupted Wednesday, "there's too many people there, Harold's okay, I guess, but everyone else...I just want to stay home and play with my dolls."<br>Morticia patted the small girl's knee, "I'll speak with your father."  
>"Thank you Mother," replied Wednesday, she looked down at the head in her hand, "Are you sure you don't want to help me recover the rest of the bodies?"<br>Morticia gave in, she slid gracefully down onto the floor and joined her daughter in her game.

Barely a half hour had gone by when the door bell sounded.  
>Morticia looked up from the neck that she was bandaging, "Oh, your father must have left his key behind again," she remarked to Wednesday.<br>Morticia rose slowly, her knees feeling a bit sore from having knelt on them for so long, she shuffled to the door, "Are you all right up here, darling?" she asked.  
>Wednesday nodded.<br>Morticia smiled, and headed out to greet her husband.

"Hello darling," Morticia said as she reached the foot of the stairs.  
>"Querida!" exclaimed Gomez energetically.<br>They embraced, then Morticia pulled away, "Bubbeleh, I need to talk to you about Wednesday," she said seriously.  
>"Tish," warned Gomez, "that name!"<br>He reached for her arm, bringing her fingertips up to his lips.  
>"Darling," said Morticia, "Wednesday now, Bubbeleh later."<br>Gomez nodded bashfully, "Of course Cara. What did you want to talk about?"  
>Morticia shuffled to her peacock chair and sat down as she explained the situation.<br>Gomez seated himself on the edge of a table, beside Morticia, "I don't understand, what has she got against the other children?"  
>"She wouldn't say," replied Morticia.<br>"Well," said Gomez, "I suppose if she doesn't want to go, we'll just have to call the Pomeroys and and tell them only our son, Pugsley, will be attending the party."  
>Morticia nodded in agreement.<br>Gomez reached for the telephone, Thing handed it to him, the number had already been dialled, "Thank you Thing."

The phone rang three times before Gomez was distracted from it.  
>Wednesday came running urgently down the stairs, "Mother," she shouted, "Mother!"<br>Gomez put the receiver down, Morticia stood up, concerned.  
>"Wednesday!" exclaimed Gomez, catching her as she hurried past and hoisting her up in his arms.<br>Breathing heavily from her brief sprint Wednesday puffed, "You haven't called the Pomeroys yet have you?"  
>"We were just calling them now darling," replied Morticia.<br>"Well stop," said Wednesday, "I've changed my mind."  
>"You have?" asked Gomez.<br>Wednesday nodded firmly.  
>"But darling, you seemed adamant that you weren't going. What made you change your mind?" asked Morticia.<br>"Well," started Wednesday, "I was talking with Pugsley, and he seemed so excited. He said that Harold is getting a three layer cake. I didn't want to disappoint Pugsley by not going with him."  
>"Well darling, that's very mature of you," said Morticia approvingly.<br>"But, Wednesday, your mother and I were a bit confused, what was wrong with the other children? That made you not want to go?" asked Gomez.  
>"They're really weird," replied Wednesday with a small frown, "they dress in bright colours, and they don't like my spiders."<br>"Now darling," interjected Morticia, "we must be accepting of other people, after all, they don't have all of the advantages that we have."  
>"Yes, not everybody gets to live in such a luxurious home," added Gomez.<br>Wednesday nodded, ashamed, "I'm sorry. I guess I'll try to get along with them."  
>Gomez put her on the ground.<br>"Now, you run along and have fun dear," said Morticia.  
>"Alright Mother," Wednesday turned and ran back up the stairs.<p>

Morticia looked at her husband, frowning.  
>"What's wrong Querida?" asked Gomez, taking her in his arms.<br>"Did Wednesday say there would be a three layer cake?" she wondered aloud.  
>"Yes."<br>"I think we'd better have a talk with our son about just how many slices of cake he can have at the party," said Morticia.  
>Gomez nodded in agreement, he released Morticia from his arms and took her hand. "Come, Querida."<br>She accepted his hand and allowed him to escort her up the stairs.


End file.
